I spent my childhood at camp. All my best memories are from there. As an only child with over-protective parents, camp was my safe haven. I was able to climb trees, get muddy, play with bugs and even swim in the lake, my favorite. I could be loud... like really really loud, a giant no-no at home, as was being dirty, moving too quickly or being outside for extended periods of time.
I would have been put up for adoption faster than you can say "You got a lil' something right there."
I'm not complaining, my mother wanted me to be safe. But because I had no siblings, and other children tended to like to play outside and not quietly read indoors.
Knowledge is power, but that is a horrible weapon against the taunting laughter that will follow when you tell another child that you don't know how to play red rover.
So camp for me was magical. You couldn't keep me still in the car on the way. Tipping canoes? Cool. Playing with fire? Awesome. Being encouraged to scream as loud as you can while running rampant in any direction and with ice cream? Sign me up every. single. year.
This was me at camp. And is what I secretly yearn to do while at work on Tuesdays.
And every single year I went. For the entire summer, and weekends, and any other time they'd let me in. When I got too old for camp I did the counselor in training programs, then was a counselor in college during summers at my childhood camp, and several others. I loved it.
I've never felt better than when I was at camp. It's a simpler place, which speaks to me on a deeper level. You wake up with the sun, walk everywhere, breathe the fresh air, eat fresh food, get plenty of exercise, and sleep like a baby every night with the grasshoppers and frogs singing you lullabies.
No joke here. Seriously, no one would need Ambian if we all slept under this every night.
Going back to camp today made me never want to leave. Alas, I couldn't stay and play, I had to get my photos and interviews and get back to write up the story.... but oh I wanted to stay. The thought occurred to me to call into work and never return, which considering that the camp ended the next day might have been unwise. But on the way home, I actually considered changing careers. Seriously. I spent the 40 minute drive home doing the math on how I could take my vacation days all at once and be a camp counselor or even quitting all together and somehow becoming a year-round camp-master. I've considered it before, other than writing, camp has always been one of my greatest loves. It gave me a place to learn who I was without my parents around and I was given a lot more space, and limitless inspiration to do so. I thought about becoming a teacher, because it was the only occupation I could think of where I could run a camp during the summer.
They're swarming, I hate it when they swarm. I do much better with kids when I can push them in the pool if they bug me.
Perhaps this is one of those dreams that will have to wait awhile though. I don't think I'm quite done with this journalism thing yet. It was because of journalism that I even got to go to camp today and bring back all those good memories... I even got to write a story and publish half a dozen photos of the camp that will hopefully help it get more donations and positive publicity. I'm doing good works here, meeting awesome people, and getting to tell their stories. That's worth something, but don't be surprised if one day I say goodbye to it all to run rampant with 11-year-olds in the woods and eat s'mores every night.
You and I both know these are worth giving up a long-trained for writing career.
